"No, if we are marked to die, we are enough for our country to lose. If we are to live, the fewer there are of us the greater share of honour. I do not covet gold or feasting, or fine garments, but honour I do covet.

Wish not another man from England. I would not lose the honour of this fight by sharing it with more men than are here, and if any among our soldiers has no desire to fight, let him go. He shall have a pa.s.sport and money to take him away. I should be ashamed to die in such a man's company. We need not wish for men from England. It is the men in England who will envy us when they hear of the great crown of honour and glory that we have won this day. This is Saint Crispin's day. Every man who fights on this day will remember it and be honoured to the last hour of his life. Crispin's day shall ne'er go by from this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remembered, We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother, be he ne'er so vile.

And gentlemen in England now abed Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, And hold their manhood cheap while any speaks That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day."

Lord Salisbury came in as the king was saying this. "The French are in battle order," he said, "and ready to charge upon our men."

"All things are ready," said the king quietly, "if our minds are ready."

"Perish the man whose mind is backward now," said Westmoreland.

"You wish no more for men from England then," said the king smiling.

And Westmoreland, inspired with courage and confidence by the king's brave speech, answered--"I would to G.o.d, my king, that you and I alone without more help might fight this battle out to-day."

"Why, now you have unwished five thousand men," said the king laughing, "and that pleases me more than to wish us one more. G.o.d be with you all."

[Sidenote: A.D. 1415.]

So they went into battle tired as they were. The brave English let loose such a shower of arrows that, as at Crecy, the white feathers of the arrows filled the air like snow, and the French fled before them.

The Earl of Suffolk was wounded, and as he lay dying, the Duke of York, his great friend, wounded to death, dragged himself to Suffolk's side and took him by the beard and kissed his wounds, and cried aloud--

"Tarry, dear Cousin Suffolk, My soul shall keep thine company to heaven.

Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our chivalry."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Then he turned to the king's uncle, the Duke of Exeter, and took his hand and said: "Dear my lord, commend my service to my sovereign."

Then he put his two arms round Suffolk's neck, and the two friends died together. But the battle was won.

Peace was made with France, and to seal the peace Henry married the French princess, Katherine. A little son was born to them at Windsor, and was called Henry of Windsor, Prince of Wales; he was afterwards Henry the Sixth. When Henry the Fifth knew he was going to die, he called his brothers together and gave them good advice about ruling England and France, and begged them to take great care of his little son. Henry the Sixth was not a year old when his father died, and he was crowned at once.

One of the finest English poems we have, was written about the Battle of Agincourt.

I.

Fair stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the main At Caux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry.

II.

And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Harry then, Though they be one to ten, Be not amazed.

Yet have we well begun; Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raised.

III.

And for myself (quoth he) This my full rest shall be, England ne'er mourn for me, Nor more esteem me.

Victor I will remain, Or on this earth lie slain, Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me.

IV.

Poitiers and Cressy tell When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell; No less our skill is Then when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat Lopped the French lilies.

V.

They now to fight are gone, Armour on armour shone, Drum now to drum did groan, To hear was wonder; That with the cries they make, The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder.

VI.

With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together.

VII.

When down their bows they threw And forth their bilbos drew, And on the French they flew, Not one was tardy; Arms were from shoulders sent, Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went-- Our men were hardy.

VIII.

This while our n.o.ble king, His broadsword brandishing, Down the French host did ding, As to o'erwhelm it.

And many a deep wound lent His arms with blood besprent.

And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet.

IX.

Upon Saint Crispin' day Fought was this n.o.ble fray.

Which fame did not delay To England to carry.

O when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry?

[Ill.u.s.tration: Father Tuck's "GOLDEN GIFT" AND "LITTLE LESSON" SERIES

Uniform with this Volume, and Published at the same Price.]